A Requiem of Ash and Stars

CHAPTER 12: BONDS OF FLAME

He stood at the prow of the Summer's Wind, eyes fixed on the horizon where the Red Temple waited. The sun drenched Jon's dark hair in gold as the ship cut through gentle waves, sails taut with the warm wind. It had been a long journey from Astapor to these quieter shores, but at last, the spires of the temple appeared against the eastern sky. Behind him, Grey Worm and thousands of Unsullied had disembarked already, setting up a temporary encampment on the beach. Now, Jon sailed upriver in a smaller vessel with Thorn, the Red Priestess, and a handful of trusted Wolf Pack warriors.

Jon Snow—Jaehaerys Targaryen to those who knew his true name—let out a slow breath. The temple rose like a crimson fortress amidst the dry, rocky hills, its tall pillars and arched roofs gleaming beneath the sun. He had come here to reunite with the family he barely knew, the aunt and uncle he had never met: Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen. The Red Faith sheltered them. They knew of him from the birth certificates, the marriage documents, all the secret proofs that Ned Stark had once hidden. He felt anxiety coil in his gut. Would they welcome him as kin, or see him as a rival?

The boat glided gently against a wooden pier near the temple's base, and the Red Priestess beckoned them ashore. "We've already sent word of your arrival, my lord," she murmured, adjusting her scarlet robes. "Daenerys and Viserys await within."

Jon's heart fluttered. He remembered the dream with Dany, how she'd looked uncertain but hopeful. He recalled stories of Viserys, how some said he was half-mad with bitterness and ambition. Yet he had also heard other rumors from the priests—that Viserys had found a measure of calm here, training in secret arts. Jon braced himself for the unknown.

They disembarked. Thorn, the Faceless Man, took point, scanning for threats. The Red Priestess led the way, guiding them along a winding stone path that climbed the rocky slope. Monks in red bowed as Jon passed. On either side, carved statues of flame-wreathed figures lined the route, each representing some aspect of R'hllor's faith. In the distance, the unsullied sunlight hammered the land, leaving sparse vegetation. The dryness reminded Jon of Astapor, though the air here felt cooler thanks to a river that threaded below.

At the temple gate, robed acolytes opened heavy doors, releasing a waft of incense-laden air. Jon stepped inside, Thorn by his shoulder. The chamber beyond soared upward, columns carved with flame motifs, the floor set with tiles depicting swirling scenes of prophecy. A hush lay over the space, broken only by the quiet chanting of distant priests.

A small group awaited Jon in the center of the hall. In front, a silver-haired young woman with wide violet eyes, clad in a simple gown of pale blue. Daenerys. She looked a bit older than Jon expected—maybe seventeen or eighteen—her posture poised but her face betraying some nerves. Beside her stood a man of about the same age, though he bore a sharper countenance, an intensity in his pale lilac eyes. Viserys Targaryen, hair the same silver hue as Dany's, worn a bit longer. He wore dark leathers, a sword belted at his side. Two Red Priests hovered near them, expressionless.

Jon halted, letting out a breath. The tension in the air throbbed. Dany exhaled, stepping forward. "You… you're Jon?" she said, voice a soft tremor. "Jon Snow. Or… Jaehaerys?"

He nodded, swallowing. "Both. My true name is Jaehaerys Targaryen, but I was raised as Jon Snow in the North. I—" He faltered, meeting her eyes. In them, he saw hesitation but also a warmth, a flicker of recognition from their shared dream. "It's good to see you in person."

She offered a tentative smile. "You too. We… we've heard so much from the Red Faith. They showed us the marriage certificates, told us about your conquests. It's all so overwhelming. But I'm glad you came."

Jon nodded. The pang of relief soothed some of his anxiety. Then his gaze moved to Viserys. The man's face was impassive, eyes flicking over Jon's figure. In that stare, Jon sensed potential hostility or resentment. He half expected an insult or a cold dismissal. But after a moment, Viserys drew a slow breath, stepping forward. He looked at Jon up and down, as if sizing him for a duel. Then, without warning, he moved. Jon tensed, half expecting an attack. Instead, Viserys grabbed Jon's shoulders and pulled him into an abrupt embrace.

Jon stiffened in shock. Viserys let out a shuddering breath, face contorting. "Gods… I thought we were alone," he whispered, voice breaking. "All these years, Dany and I… only us. But you're real. You're family. I—"

His words cut off as he pressed his forehead to Jon's shoulder. The tension in the hall broke. Dany's eyes misted. Thorn relaxed behind Jon, hand leaving the hilt of a hidden blade. Jon found his arms lifting to return the hug, gently patting Viserys's back. The man trembled with pent-up emotion. For a moment, Jon glimpsed not the rumored "beggar king" or the half-mad exiled prince, but a lonely soul starved for kin.

After a few heartbeats, Viserys pulled away, clearing his throat. He brushed at his eyes, trying to regain composure. "I… I'm sorry," he muttered, jaw tight. "It's just… we've lost so much. Our father, mother, everything. And now…" He forced a wry grin. "You appear, claiming the same blood. I doubted you. But I sense it. The Force, or whatever you call it. It resonates in you."

Jon nodded. "I feel it, too. We share that legacy. Rhaegar was father to us both. Well, father to me, but for you—" He halted, realizing the tangled bloodlines. Rhaegar was Viserys's older brother, so that made Rhaegar also an uncle of sorts. Targaryen lineage was complex, but the fact remained: they were close kin.

Dany stepped in, resting a hand on Jon's arm. "Welcome, truly. We've waited, uncertain if you'd accept us as family. The Red Faith said you might want to claim the throne alone."

Jon shook his head firmly. "I have no desire to claim the Iron Throne purely for myself. My goal is to unite the realm against a greater threat: the White Walkers. I sense we'll need all Targaryens working together, plus the North, Essos… everyone."

Viserys's eyes flicked with interest. "So you'd not cast us aside as rivals?"

"Never," Jon said, voice steady. "I came to unify us. If anything, I want you both at my side. The realm is large, the threat is immense. We can't do it alone."

Viserys released a slow exhale, tension in his shoulders easing. "All right, then. Let's see if your skill in arms matches your words." A tiny grin curved his lips, challenging. "We Targaryens once rode dragons, shaped empires. Show me how you've shaped Astapor. Or better yet, show me your sword arm."

Dany gave him a reproachful look. "Viserys, let him breathe. He's traveled far."

But Viserys's grin only broadened. "No better way for kin to bond than crossing blades in friendly spar. Besides, the Red Priests won't hush about how Jon wields magic and steel so well. I want a taste of that. You're not afraid, are you?" He shot Jon an almost teasing glare.

Jon felt an odd relief that Viserys's hostility had melted into a competitive camaraderie. He managed a soft laugh. "Afraid? Hardly. But if you insist on seeing who's better, I won't refuse."

Dany sighed. "You two and your swords. Fine, but be careful. I've only just met you both in peace."

Viserys smirked, patting her shoulder. "Don't worry. I won't kill him… if he fights well." Then, turning to Jon, he nodded. "Shall we do it in the training courtyard behind the temple? The Red Priests have a space for such displays."

Jon glanced at Thorn, who merely shrugged. The Faceless Man had no objection. The Wolf Pack men waiting outside might find it amusing. "All right," Jon said. "Lead the way."

(line break)

They ventured into the temple's rear complex, a wide courtyard enclosed by high walls of red stone. Torches lined the perimeter, though the afternoon sun still shone overhead. A few priests stood practicing staff forms or meditation, but they stepped aside at the sight of the Targaryen trio. Word spread quickly, and soon a small gathering formed: Red Priests, Unsullied guards, Wolf Pack warriors, all curious to see a spar.

Viserys shed his cloak, rolling his shoulders. He drew a slender longsword from a rack. Dany watched with folded arms, mild exasperation but also curiosity in her eyes. Jon removed his black cloak, placing it aside. Thorn lingered near, scanning the watchers. Anakin's Force projection glimmered at the edge of Jon's vision, unseen by others. The ghost's calm voice brushed Jon's mind: Be mindful. Viserys might be more adept than rumors suggest.

Jon took a standard steel blade from the rack, testing its balance. "Any rules?"

Viserys shrugged. "Avoid lethal strikes. We aim for submission or disarm. I'm told you do… strange sword forms. Let me see them."

Jon inclined his head, stepping into the center of the courtyard. Viserys mirrored him. A hush fell among the onlookers. The two men squared off, Targaryen silver hair on one side, black hair on the other. A faint breeze stirred dust across the flagstones.

Viserys moved first, lunging in a classic forward strike. Jon parried lightly, testing. He realized Viserys's technique was polished, each movement deliberate. Not the posture of an amateur. They exchanged a quick flurry: Jon blocked, Viserys circled. A hum of quiet approval rippled among the watchers.

Jon raised an eyebrow. "You're good."

Viserys smirked, deflecting a swift thrust from Jon. "I trained in Braavos for years. The exiled Targaryen needed every skill to survive. People assume I'm incompetent. Let them."

Jon pivoted, adopting a stance reminiscent of Vaapad's aggression. He let the Force guide his reflexes. Their blades clanged, each strike sharper. Viserys's expression shifted from smug to focused. He matched Jon blow for blow, reading footwork with practiced ease. Anakin hovered at the edge, impressed. He's no novice, indeed.

Jon increased speed, weaving in some lightsaber-inspired footwork. The watchers murmured as he angled the blade in unpredictable arcs, each slash weightless in motion. Viserys adapted, though Jon sensed the man was tapping something beyond mere skill. A swirl of Force energy? That subtle shift as Viserys's eyes gleamed, as if he drew on hidden reserves. He moved faster, fueling each parry with an uncanny grace.

Sparks flew as steel slid against steel. Each man tested the other. Dany's breath caught, glancing between them with parted lips. Thorn stood stoic but watchful. The Red Priests leaned closer, murmuring about the Targaryen gifts. Jon recognized that feeling of confrontation, a dance of lethal potential overshadowed by mutual restraint. He pushed harder, letting the Force heighten his speed, feinting low, hooking the blade around Viserys's guard. Viserys responded with a deft sidestep, using the Force in a raw, untrained surge that propelled him just out of Jon's reach.

Anakin's ghost blinked in surprise. He truly can harness the Force under pressure. Remarkable, if rough.

Jon grinned inwardly, switching to a more refined style. He unleashed a series of arcs reminiscent of Form VII, pushing Viserys off-balance. For a heartbeat, their swords locked, faces inches apart. Viserys's breath came quick, sweat beading on his brow, but his eyes shone with exhilaration. He let out a short laugh, pressing forward. "Impressive. But let me—"

Jon cut him off by slipping around Viserys's flank, hooking his blade beneath Viserys's crossguard. In one fluid move, he twisted. The sword flew from Viserys's hand, clattering across the courtyard. The watchers gasped. Jon brought the tip of his blade near Viserys's neck, gently. A hush fell.

Then, after a moment of taut silence, Viserys laughed breathlessly, stepping back. "You had me," he conceded, voice tinged with both frustration and admiration. "Damn. You are skilled indeed."

Jon lowered his sword, heart pounding. He offered a faint smile. "So are you. I didn't expect you to harness the Force mid-fight."

Viserys shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. "I discovered some… ability in Essos. The Red Faith helped me channel it a bit. I never had formal training, but it kept me alive. Now I see how far I've yet to go."

Dany rushed forward, beaming. "That was incredible—like a dance. Neither of you is harmed?"

Jon and Viserys exchanged a wry look, both grinning. "No harm done," Jon said softly. "A good test."

Viserys nodded, chest still heaving. "Right. Next time, I'll try not to let you corner me. But you do fight strangely, as if your blade weighs nothing. Is that a special technique?"

Jon smiled. "Something I learned from a teacher of… otherworldly knowledge. I'll share it with you both if you're willing. We can be stronger together."

(line break)

A short while later, they convened in a quieter courtyard within the temple's interior—this one more suited to meditation and spiritual practice. The Red Priests often prayed here. Pillars formed a ring, open to the sky above. A mild breeze rustled the red silk banners. Jon guided Dany and Viserys to the center, gesturing for them to sit. Thorn watched from a discreet distance, while Anakin's ghost hovered unseen.

Jon sank onto a low cushion. "I told you I'd teach you the Force. This is not just for sparring. It's an energy that binds all living things. You can sense it, channel it. If we're to stand against the White Walkers, we need this power. Are you ready?"

Dany swallowed, eyes bright with determination. "Yes. I've had dreams, feelings. I want to control them, not be lost in them."

Viserys folded his arms, half-lidded eyes. "I'm ready. Show me."

Jon nodded. He began by explaining the basic concept of calm focus—closing one's eyes, feeling the breath, letting emotions flow but not dominate. He recalled how Anakin had guided him: "Focus on the living world around you. Feel the currents of energy." Dany listened intently, brow furrowing. Viserys wore a guarded expression, but Jon sensed flickers of curiosity behind that façade.

Anakin offered silent counsel in Jon's mind: Begin with simple sensing exercises. Let them connect to each other's presence in the Force. Encourage gentle practice. Jon relayed that in his own words, instructing them to place their hands on the ground, to breathe slowly, letting the dust, the warmth, the subtle movement of air all become part of their awareness.

Minutes passed. At first, Dany fidgeted. Viserys tapped his foot in impatience. But gradually, Jon coaxed them to deeper stillness. He used a faint thread of Battle Meditation, not in the combative sense, but to unify their senses. Anakin had once told him that the Force could bond minds in peaceful synergy, a precursor to strengthening their individual abilities. Jon let the swirl of power envelop them. The banners overhead fluttered, though no strong wind blew. Subtle energies sparked in the courtyard.

Dany gasped softly. "I feel… something. Like a heartbeat in the air. Warm, almost. Is that the Force?"

Jon nodded. "Yes. Keep focusing. Let your breath flow with it. Don't force anything."

Viserys's eyes were shut tight, face taut. "I sense a… pressure in my chest. Like a swirl pulling me in."

"That's the energy stirring," Jon murmured. "Don't fight it. Let it guide your breathing."

They lapsed into silence. Time lost meaning. The watchers around the courtyard hushed, observing the Targaryens deep in meditation. Jon maintained a subtle link, weaving calm around them. For Dany, it came easier—perhaps her dreams had opened her mind to the Force. She soon wore a serene expression, breath even. Viserys trembled at first, but then settled, lines of tension easing from his face.

At length, Jon sensed a flare of triumphant warmth from Dany. She opened her eyes, mouth parted in wonder. "I… touched it. Just for a second, it was like I saw the courtyard in a new light. The dust motes, the wind's path, everything connected."

Viserys frowned, jealousy flickering. "I only felt a dull hum. Maybe I'm not as… attuned as she is."

Jon raised a calming hand. "Each person finds their entry point differently. Keep practicing. Try again." He stepped behind Viserys, gently guided his posture. "Release your frustration. That frustration blocks the flow. It's the same rage that fueled you in our spar, yes, but we need balance, not just aggression."

Viserys exhaled slowly, closing his eyes once more. The next minutes passed in silence. Then a faint ripple in the Force told Jon that Viserys, too, had found a spark—like a candle lit in darkness. Viserys let out a ragged sigh, shoulders relaxing. Dany gave a small laugh of delight, sensing her brother's shift. Jon felt relief. They had begun.

(line break)

They spent the rest of the day exploring those Force exercises, weaving in motion. Anakin guided Jon mentally: Have them walk while holding the meditative state. Let them sense each other's presence. So Jon directed Dany and Viserys to pace in circles around the courtyard, feeling the Force's current even in motion. Initially, they stumbled or lost focus, but after repeated tries, they adapted.

Jon tested them with small tasks: "Reach out and sense that servant across the yard. What does his emotional state feel like?" Dany reported a flutter of mild anxiety in the man, Viserys guessed annoyance, and together they deduced the man was fatigued from his chores. Then Jon had them gently push a pebble across the ground with telekinesis. Dany managed it first, squeaking in excitement as the pebble rolled. Viserys soon followed, though his pebble jumped too forcefully. He cursed under his breath, earning a laugh from Dany.

Anakin, invisible, was satisfied. They learn quickly. They have raw talent. Jon, bridging the lesson, introduced them to the idea of controlling emotions. "Passion can fuel the Force, but too much passion blinds you. We aim for clarity—like a calm flame, not a raging inferno." He thought of Vaapad's fine line, how Mace Windu once described harnessing darkness without succumbing. But that advanced knowledge could wait.

When dusk finally fell, the sky painted in violet and gold, they realized they had trained all day. Dany's stomach rumbled, making her giggle. Viserys snorted in amusement, wiping sweat from his brow. Jon felt exhaustion but also pride in their progress. "We should eat," he said.

They departed the courtyard, the onlookers dispersing with murmured excitement. The Targaryens had returned in force, it seemed—an omen for the realm? Jon ushered his aunt and uncle to a modest dining hall in the temple's west wing, where servants had laid out a simple but hearty meal: roasted vegetables, spiced rice, grilled fish. The day's intensity made them ravenous. Thorn joined them at the table, standing discreetly behind Jon. A few Red Priests, including the High Priest of this temple, drifted in to greet them, then withdrew, sensing the family needed time alone.

Jon sank onto a bench, biting into a succulent piece of fish. Dany tore a chunk of bread, glancing at Jon with lingering wonder. "I never expected to feel the Force like that. It's… so comforting, but also exhilarating."

Viserys nodded, though he wore a thoughtful frown. "It's more real than I imagined. If we master this, we could accomplish much. No one would dismiss House Targaryen again."

Jon studied them. "We can master it, but let's never forget it's about protecting the realm, not just personal power. The White Walkers—if they come, we'll need everything."

Viserys shrugged. "Certainly. But I won't deny I want House Targaryen to stand tall again."

Dany put a hand on her brother's arm. "We can do both—stand tall, and help the realm. Right, Jon?"

Jon nodded, relieved that Dany seemed to share his altruism. "Exactly. That's the spirit we need."

Just then, Thorn cleared her throat softly, drawing their attention. "My lord, I have news."

Jon set aside his cup, seeing Thorn's grave expression. "Go on."

Thorn's voice was low. "Word arrived from King's Landing. The Lannisters have seized Ned Stark. He tried to declare Stannis as rightful heir after Robert Baratheon's death—some boar incident. The Lannisters beat him to the punch and arrested him as a traitor. The city is in chaos."

Shock rippled through Jon. Ned, arrested? A sense of dread gnawed at him. Guilt too—though he had parted ways with Ned, he never wished him harm. Dany and Viserys exchanged anxious glances; they'd heard the name Stark before. "What else?" Jon asked quietly.

Thorn let out a soft sigh. "The Faceless Man assigned to watch over Arya—and sometimes Sansa—took immediate action. He seized both girls. Sansa apparently resisted, believing in the Lannisters. She had to be knocked out and forcibly removed. Arya cooperated. Syrio Forel, the Braavosi swordmaster, joined them. They're heading here under stealth. Likely a matter of weeks."

Jon's chest tightened. "Then Ned has failed. The realm might spiral into war." He bowed his head, thinking of how Ned had strove for honor. Now he sat in a dungeon, or worse. Jon clenched his fists. "Damn the Lannisters. If war breaks out in Westeros, the realm might be too fractured to face the real threat."

Dany looked distressed, sipping water. "That's terrible. Ned Stark is your father, right? Or was believed to be."

Jon nodded, swallowing. "Yes. He's… the man who raised me, though we've had our share of distance. He never told me the truth of my birth. But I don't want him harmed. He's still family in the only sense I knew until recently."

Viserys's jaw set. "So the lion has chained the wolf. Typical. But what do we do?"

Jon exhaled, remembering how the White Walkers threatened everything. "We can't rush to Westeros now. We have no guaranteed allies there. The Lannisters hold the capital. The North is far away, possibly in disarray. We'd likely find ourselves embroiled in petty wars. Our best route remains forging a strong base in Essos, uniting these cities or conquering them if needed, building a force unstoppable by any Westerosi faction. Then we can return as a stabilizing power—also pushing the realm to confront the White Walkers."

Dany hesitated, "But what about your father and sisters? If you wait too long—"

Jon grimaced. "I know. It hurts. But I can't help them if I show up with only a fraction of my might and get pinned down in civil war. We must do something bigger, secure a real foothold in Essos." He glanced at Thorn. "We also need to hurry, because war in Westeros might intensify fast."

Thorn nodded. "Given the spy network's intelligence, the free cities of Essos are ripe for taking if we have cunning and power. And you mentioned Qarth—some rumor of a lightsaber or a power source there. If you obtain that, you might unify the Targaryen name further."

Viserys's eyes lit up. "Yes, Qarth. Their city is wealthy, a gateway to distant lands. If we conquer or ally with Qarth, we'd have resources, trade routes, possibly a vantage to push west or deeper east."

Dany frowned uncertainly. "I hear Qarth is no simple city to subjugate. They have warlocks, wealthy factions… but if we find a relic that can enhance our Force powers, maybe we can sway them."

Jon rubbed his temples, mind racing. "That's the plan, then. We'll push to Qarth, find the rumored lightsaber or its crystal, rally forces. Once we're secure, we split the armies. I command a portion, you two lead another. Then we envelop Essos, city by city, forging alliances or conquering swiftly. Over time, we gather enough might to cross to Westeros. By then, hopefully the White Walkers won't have consumed the realm."

Viserys managed a crooked grin. "I like it. A triumphant return of House Targaryen, unstoppable. I'll finally have the revenge on those usurpers, all the Lannisters who wronged us."

Jon gave him a pointed look. "We fight them if they stand in the way. But remember, the ultimate goal is saving the realm from the Long Night, not petty vengeance."

Viserys's grin dimmed, but he nodded with a hint of reluctance. "As you say, for now."

Dany placed a hand on both men's arms, bridging them. "We do this together. If we must conquer, so be it, but let's not become tyrants. Right, Jon?"

He met her gaze with gratitude. "Right. We free the oppressed, unify under a just cause, and stand ready for the darkness beyond the Wall."

They fell silent, each absorbing the enormity of the plan. Thorn, standing behind Jon, cleared her throat. "When shall we depart for Qarth, then? The Red Temple stands at your disposal, but time is pressing."

Jon smoothed his hair back. "Let's give it a few days. I want to greet Arya and Sansa when they arrive, make sure they're safe. Then we set sail or march. We'll gather what we need—ships, supplies, the Wolf Pack, the Unsullied. And we'll head to Qarth."

Dany exhaled, her eyes darting to Viserys. "I'll prepare. We can do it."

Viserys smirked. "We Targaryens shall conquer once more, but this time, we aim for a true victory for the realm. So be it."

Jon felt a stirring of hope amid the swirling worry for Ned. In time, he could free his sisters from danger, maybe even rescue Ned if the war allowed. But first, he must seize the power needed to break the cycles of conflict. The meal ended in determined silence, each Targaryen lost in thought. Anakin's spirit lingered near, whispering encouragement in Jon's mind: You've forged the bond. Now carry it forward with wisdom.

Yes, Jon thought, forging that bond was only the beginning.